White Line
by FutureTVwriter
Summary: Abby-centric/POV when she was drinking at work after "Blackout". "What’s the difference between me and all the drunks that we see in here day after day? The only one I can see is that I am wearing the white coat." Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

**White Line**

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Abby first person POV set when she was drinking at work after 'Blackout'. Please Read and Review.

Disclaimer: I wish they were mine.

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What's the difference between me and all the drunks that we see in here day after day? The only one I can see is that I am wearing the white coat. Other than that we're all the same. I'm slowly losing everything important to me in my life because of alcohol and yet I still can't seem to stop. Here I am standing amid the chaos that is the ER, a million thoughts should be running through my mind right now: labs, patients, CT's, MRIs, tox screens, dispo orders, how slow transport is, where my surgical consult is, and yet the prevailing thought in my head at this moment is that I could really use a drink. It's the middle of the afternoon, I have 9 patients on the board, I'm supposed to be checking on films for my kid in Trauma 1 but what I really want to do is get a drink. Just something to take the edge off. I don't even want to get drunk anymore, that's not what it's about. It's about being numb; alcohol blurs the lines, calms the nerves and anxiety ripping through me at all times. It helps me not worry about Joe falling at the park again, worrying about Luka in Croatia, being mad at Luka for still being in Croatia, being a 'single' mom, spending enough time with Joe, paying the bills, and, right now at least, it keeps me from the incessant stab of guilt and anxiety over what I did, or who I did I guess I should say.

"The damn drunk in Exam 3 ripped out his banana bag again," Sam tears me away from my introspection as she slams a chart down on the desk in front of me. "Can't these people just go sleep it off at home instead of causing a scene and having the cops bring them in?" I shrug my shoulders at her remarks, really what I am going to say? I know 'these people' differently than the rest of the staff do and throughout the years I've come to terms with it. They see 'them' as the scum of the earth: irresponsible, out of control, and hopeless. When I see them it's like looking in a mirror lately, and that's what scares me the most.

"It's part of the job," I say as casually as possible. I am definitely not in the position to judge anyone at the moment. Sam shrugs her shoulders at my lack of commiseration with her, "They need to get help" she states as she hurries off.

Help. Yeah, if only it were that easy to just say the word 'help' and have everything be alright again. Some people are beyond help. Bells can't be un-rung. I'm actually amazed, and dare I say it, proud that I have been able to keep this a secret for so long now. It's the coat. The thin white line that separates me from them; who's going to accuse a respected doctor of being loaded at work? I know people are 'concerned' about me and have noticed some changes in behavior, but I think they've just chocked it up to Luka being gone and me missing him, and really that is a big part of it. Everyone who ever knew about my 'problem' are gone now. I'm on a tightrope without a safety net and I'm teetering and swaying way out of control. In some ways what I'm doing is even worse than what 'those people' are. I'm taking other people's lives in my incapable hands. Damn I could really use a drink. I can tell my buzz is wearing off when I feel my conscience kicking in.


	2. Chapter 2

**White Line **

Abby first person POV set when she was drinking at work after 'Blackout'. Please Read and Review.

Disclaimer: I wish they were mine.

I'm standing in front of the fridge in the lounge wringing my hands together only slightly delaying the inevitable. When I first started drinking again it would only be late at night when I couldn't sleep. Then it was right after I'd put Joe to bed. Now it's turned into right after I put Joe to bed and when I'm getting us ready in the morning. My morning coffee has become Irish coffee. And now here I stand having to drink in the middle of the day just to get through. This is a dangerous path I'm going down and I'm slowly losing control over my destination. I've been trying to see how many hours I can go without a drink; I'm down to four. I keep a water bottle three quarters full of vodka in the fridge in the lounge. Stupid? Absolutely, but maybe I'm trying to get caught. I swig it like a pro; the familiar burn down my throat and warmth spreading through my chest put me at ease. I feel it coarse through my veins slowing my heart rate down and all of my anxiety slips away. I grab a Coke out of the fridge to kill the stench of Vodka on my breath and head back out. Moretti is staring intensely at the board; what a prick. If looks could kill the daggers I'm shooting at him right now would be halfway through his skull. My eyes wander over to the elevators and Neela steps off of one. Those blue scrubs really suit her. Before I know it she's right in front of me.

"Abby did you hear me?" Neela asks. Shit, I was zoned out while she was talking. I try to focus my attention, "What?"

"I asked where your surgical consult is…are you ok? You look a bit, flushed." Shit. I have to remember to put makeup on after I drink next time, I can feel my cheeks getting hotter.

"Oh yeah I'm fine, it's just a little warm down here." I involuntarily chuckle and she gives me a strange look, "but my uh consultation is right over….

_(damnit which one is it again? I steal a look at the board and see my name scribbled next to Trauma 1, it's a safe bet that's probably the consult, but even its it not oh well, she'll never know.) _

"…in Trama 1! C'mon." She gives me another strange look, really, of all the surgeons they could've sent me they send me Neela, she's been particularly (that's a funny word) partTICularLY 'concerned/worried/whatever about me lately. I don't want her to ask me the patients story before we get into the room because I don't quite remember it right now so I'll just vamp a bit, "So how're you doing with that new intern, Harrry?"

"It's Harold actually and um it's going well I think. He can't really get much worse anyway."

I nod my head like I know what she's talking about as we enter the room. I grab the chart off the edge of the bed, a quick glance and it all comes flowing back to me, and I did pick the right room!

"Ok here we have Timothy Gray age 13 who was involved in a motor vehicle accident earlier today. Can you clear the belly for me?" I say without any trouble.

"Sure, Hello Timothy…."

Ok I've gotta get out of here now while I'm ahead, I don't even excuse myself, I just slip out the door. I notice Pratt giving me the hairy eyeball from down the hall, he must've noticing me 'sneaking out'. I stare back at him and a goofy grin crosses my face, he's actually pretty damn cute! I never noticed it before. Uh oh, I'm zoning out again, I've got to keep a low profile for a little while.

I head over to the rack to select my next, hopefully low maintenance, patient. Damn there are a lot of charts here: chest pain: pass, swollen scrotum: ew gross, pass, foreign object in the rectum: well that could be fun, we have a winner! As I go to grab a blank chart I notice a, possibly my, three quarter full water bottle sitting on the desk. Why is it out here? Is it mine? It can't be mine, who would've gone to drink a three quarters full water bottle? My heart is about to explode out of my chest. I look around, if anyone's watching me right now I have guilt written all over my face. No one belongs to this water bottle. Maybe its Franks, yeah, that's it. It's Frank's. Just calm down. There's no way its yours. Deep breaths. I try to pull myself together and head towards my man with a toy car stuck up his ass. When I look up I notice Pratt has been watching me this whole time: shit.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: White Line

Sorry it's been awhile, I had given up on this story but since I got a few positive reviews wanting me to continue I thought I'd pick it up again.

Disclaimer: I wish I owned them.

Abby had been right about one thing: Pratt had been watching her. All day in fact. He had seen her blow up at a paramedic earlier for not giving her the bullet fast enough, had seen her meandering around the halls aimlessly, and most recently had seen her bolt out of the trauma room and stare at a water bottle for several seconds. He knew something was going on. He headed towards Exam 3 where Abby had just grabbed the chart of a middle aged man with a toy car stuck in his rectum. When he turned the corner he noticed her just standing outside the room staring into space. She noticed him and quickly started to go into the room but he called after her and stopped her.

"Abby hold up a minute, we need to talk."

She cringed and walked towards him. "Yes?" She asked as normally as possible.

"What's going on with you today?"

"What do you mean?" She asked as she nervously rearranged her hair.

"Don't play games with me, you've been off all day. Are you alright?"  
She sighed and put her hands in her pocket, "I'm fine. It's just, hard, with Luka gone and taking care of Joe and all that…"

Pratt sensed that there was something more going on, something she was holding back. He looked her over for several seconds. "Well if there's anything I can do you know I'm here right? I'm not trying to go all attending on you, I'm just concerned…we all are."

"I appreciate that," she stammered, "But I'll be fine, really."

Fine, fine, fine. Pratt was familiar with her signature word but was unaware of the darkness that usually resided behind it. Just then Sam came running down the hall towards them, "Two major traumas rolling in!"

Pratt looked towards Abby, "It's just us, let's go."

They ran out to the bay and met the ambulances as they were pulling up. Pratt signaled to Abby to take the second one as he wheeled the first victim in. It was a husband and wife who had been T-boned by a drunk driver. The driver had died at the scene.

Abby took the wife into Trauma 2 accompanied by Sam and the paramedics.

"What're her vitals?" Abby asked nervously.

"I just told you that," Zadro said. "BP is high, 140 over 60, pulse is thready."

"Right, okay. We've got it from here," she said, dismissing the paramedics.

"You alright?" Sam asked.

"Fine. Let's start an IV and get a Chem 7, ABG, and Blood Gas to start."

The woman was gasping for air and grabbed on to Abby's sleeve, "How's my husband?"

"They're working on him next door, let's focus on you right now…what's your name?"

"Jill."

"Okay Jill we're gonna take good care of you."  
"Do you want a chest x-ray?" Sam asked.

"What? Uh sure." Abby stammered.

"Are you going to intubate?" Sam asked, looking at the monitors. "She's not moving a lot of air."  
Abby looked towards Pratt in the next room, he was clearly busy with his patient. She looked into the hall outside the trauma room, empty. _Great. Just great. _She thought.

"Abby?!" Sam yelled, "We're losing her!"

"Damnit. Number 8 ET tube."

"She's pretty small, looks like a 7."  
"Fine 7 then."

Sam quickly prepared for the intubation as Abby positioned herself at the head of the bed. She looked up to the ceiling and took a deep breath. "Prep for a chest tube too."

"Alright, here's your 7."

Abby grabbed the tube and squinted as she tried to see down Jill's throat..

"Suction! I can't see anything."

Sam suctioned out the airway and Abby went in again. "I can't see anything. Damnit!"

"Just take a breath, you can do this," Sam coached her.

She took a deep breath and managed to get the tube down. "Okay bag her up."

"Chest tube tray's ready."

Abby quickly went to work and successfully placed the chest tube. She heaved a sigh of relief and stepped back.

"She's still not moving enough air. Getting harder to bag."

Abby got frantic, "the chest tube is in a good position, its draining well."

Pratt entered the room, "Everything going alright in here?"  
Abby looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Sam looked between them and finally shouted, "Someone do something! She's not moving air and I'm having trouble bagging over here."

Pratt stepped up to the patient and listened for breath sounds, Abby slowly stepped back at watched the scene unfolding in front of her.

"You placed the tube in her esophagus!" Pratt shouted.

Abby was silent, in disbelief.

"What the hell is the matter with you?! Did you listen for breath sounds?"

"I…I, it went in smooth. I thought she just needed a chest tube."

"Her abdomen is distended from all the bagging, you might've perfed her stomach. And her brain has been deprived of oxygen!"

"She's crashing!" Sam screamed.

_SHIT. _


	4. Chapter 4

Abby bolted out of the trauma room and ran down the hallway. Her heart felt like it was about to break out of her chest. She ran up the numerous staircases all the way up to the roof and doubled over, gasping for air when she got up there.

Neela entered the trauma room just as they pronounced the time of death. "What happened? I thought you just needed to clear the belly after a car crash. You guys didn't say it was urgent."

Pratt was pissed, "It WASN'T urgent until Abby intubated her trachea instead of her esophagus."

"What?" Neela asked in disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"She's dead isn't she? . Where the hell did she go?!"" Pratt snipped.

"I don't know, she was just there." Sam said.

Neela turned to Sam who was cleaning up Jill's body, "Did Abby check for breath sounds?"

"It was hectic, it was just the two of us. I was prepping for a chest tube while she intubated….but I'm not sure if she checked for breath sounds….and she was having some trouble with the intubation."

"Well I'm gonna get to the bottom of this, something is going on with her but this is inexcusable."

Pratt stormed out of the trauma room and Neela followed close behind him.

"Greg wait, slow down."

"And she just bolts from the room when things go south? What the hell is that?!"

"Maybe you should calm down before you confront her."

"Are you kidding me?"

They continued to walk down the hallway and into the lounge. Pratt slammed through the doorway expecting to find Abby in there. The room was empty.

"Where could she have gone?" Pratt asked angrily. He stormed out of the room and got on an elevator with Neela following close behind. "Why are you following me?"  
"Because I'm Abby's friend and I'm concerned. And I don't know what you're going to do to her."

They rode in silence up to the roof where they both knew they would find Abby. Pratt stormed over to her, his anger resurfacing.

"Now I KNOW you know better than what you just did down there. What the hell happened?"

His aggressiveness took Abby by surprise and she was unable to formulate words to respond to him with before Pratt started yelling again.

"And if what you did isn't bad enough, you RUN OUT during a trauma?! What the hell is the matter with you?!"

Abby stared at him in shock while Neela watched the one-sided argument unfolding in front of her.

"Okay Greg just back off a little," Neela said as she got between Pratt and Abby.

"I just want some answers!" Pratt yelled.

Neela turned to face Abby and noticed that something was definitely wrong with her friend. "Abby, are you with us?"

Abby was staring over Neela's shoulder at Pratt's very angry face.

"Abby?" Neela asked once again, her voice laced with concern.

Abby snapped out of it and looked at Neela staring at her.

"I'm fine," she whispered unconvincingly.

"Enough of the 'I'm fines'!" Pratt yelled, "You clearly are NOT fine."

"Greg!" Neela hissed.

Abby looked around and focused on the Chicago skyline, "Alright, I'm not fine. There. I screwed up. I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."

"What happened was you didn't check for breath sounds after an intubation. That's med school day one, Abby!"

Abby started to tear up and quickly tried to wipe away her tears. "Am I suspended?"

"Do you even care that the patient is dead?" Pratt asked.

Abby gave him a harsh look, "Of course I do! I killed her alright! There. I said it."

Neela and Pratt were taken aback by her sudden outburst. "Am I suspended?"

Pratt took a deep breath, realizing for the second time that day that something was deeply wrong with Abby.

"Not officially, but I think you really need to take some time off. And there's going to be an M&M on this case."

"Fine." Abby said as she headed towards the elevators. Neela looked towards Pratt, "Are we just going to let her go?"  
"We can't help her if she doesn't want it."

Neela watched Abby getting further away from them and turned to Pratt once more, "I can't just let her walk away." She said as she ran off and got into the elevator with Abby.


End file.
